


The Silence of Doldrums

by Minyoongistummy



Series: It's All In Your Head [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: A little bit of comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Dissociation, Gen, Jisung has ADHD, Nausea, Panic Attacks, This is kind of heavy sorry, other boys are mentioned, though its not said explicitly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyoongistummy/pseuds/Minyoongistummy
Summary: It didn’t take long for Jisung to think, not with purpose or malice, that perhaps they didn’t think what he said was important.They loved him, he knew, each and every one of them. Even if it wasn’t said, he could tell in how Jeongin let him give morning kisses, Woojin let him clamber in his lap whenever he liked, Minho returned every ounce of energy he had whenever he could. They all put the effort in.But once the thought was there, Jisung couldn’t get rid of it. They shouldn’t have to put effort in. It shouldn’t be a chore, talking to him.(or: Jisung has ADHD and can't stay focused on one topic for too long and he overthinks it)





	The Silence of Doldrums

**Author's Note:**

> This is extremely self indulgent and really just how I experience ADHD, this does not represent all people's experiences with ADHD. There isn't necessarily a happy ending but it's not a really sad ending, but if you're sensitive to graphic descriptions of panic attacks, dissociation, or nausea, please be cautious. This hasn't been proof read in any way shape or form, I literally spit this out over the last hour and am copy pasting it.

It wasn’t intentional.

Really, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself aware of it.

He’d tried so many times, in so many different ways, to keep track of what he said. Keep track of his thoughts, his words, the conversation itself. Even in his text, his brain just got away with him, and he couldn’t keep to one subject for more than a couple exchanges.

Jisung tried – but no matter what, he couldn’t do it.

There were innumerable nights spent up going over what he’d done, what he’d said, trying to find the point where his focus shifted, but more often than not he couldn’t even remember the interactions.

It wasn’t that the conversations weren’t important, he found every conversation he had with the other boys important, _they_ were important. Even so, he couldn’t remember not five minutes later what he’d started the discussion with, no idea how they’d gotten to where they were.

And he knew it was weighing on the other boys.

They never said anything, of course, they didn’t _think_ Jisung was annoying. Jisung had no doubt there had never been any such thought to cross their mind.

But there was definitely an “ah, this again,” or “I guess we’re done with that topic,” thought at least once. Jisung _knew_ this, it had been said out loud enough times – Jisung thought it himself, when he realized, but by then he’d already forgotten what they’d been discussing before. Each time he realized, or each time he was told, he was quick to apologize; he didn’t mean it, he tried to bring back what they’d been discussing, tried to remember, begged the other to remind him, but they always brushed it off.

It didn’t take long for Jisung to think, not with purpose or malice, that perhaps _they_ didn’t think it was important.

They loved him, he knew, each and every one of them. Even if it wasn’t said, he could tell in how Jeongin let him give morning kisses, Woojin let him clamber in his lap whenever he liked, Minho returned every ounce of energy he had whenever he could. They all put the effort in.

But once the thought was there, Jisung couldn’t get rid of it. They shouldn’t _have_ to put effort in. It shouldn’t be a chore, talking to him. With this, a constant whisper in the back of his mind, Jisung couldn’t help over analyzing every interaction he had with the boys. When did they sigh, when did that look of tired resignation pass over their face, when did their interest in talking officially leave them, when did their smile turn sad at the topic being changed before they could get their piece in,  _again._

They were accepting, and patient, and more accommodating than Jisung ever deserved. But how long would they be?

How long until they stopped talking to him, because he was too face paced, too noncommittal, changing topics as fast as he could think them. It had already sort of happened a couple times, Jisung will begin talking, and before he can really get going, “actually, I’m gonna go do this,” or “I can’t really chat right now,” and he’ll be left to scramble for an agreeance, and apology, already alone by the time he can think of something to say, brain working too fast for his mouth.

Sometimes he’d be talking and he could see the other not listening. It wasn’t personal, he _knew_ it wasn’t personal, the other was simply still on their previous topic, mind elsewhere- or, mind still where it was supposed to be – it was Jisung who’d strayed. In those times, he was given no choice but to excuse himself, trail off, apologize for changing the topic _again_. And each time, he was let go so easily, the other boy eager to find someone else to talk to, to continue the conversation they were supposed to have.

There was a time he’d overheard Jeongin asking Chan if they could talk, informing the older boy that, when he’d tried to talk to Jisung, he’d changed the topic before he could really discuss his problems. There hadn’t been any anger, any frustration or resentment – he was simply stating a fact. Of _course_ Jisung had changed the topic, how could he have been so silly as to try and discuss his problems with Jisung.

Another time, Felix had left mid conversation with a fumbled apology, looking dazed and overwhelmed, informing through chuckles that he wasn’t able to keep up with Jisung, brain not able to translate fast enough.

That had felt **awful** , that was the worst of it all, the worst situation he could have thought of, other than the boys refusing to talk to him all together – Felix was already self-conscious of Korean, sent often enough into a state of panic because of it, and Jisung was possibly the worst person for him to experience it with.

Which is how he found himself just-

Not.

Not talking, not interacting, not thinking, as much as he could.

It was difficult, to put it simply. Jisung had little to no impulse control, his mouth would start running before he could even realize he was talking. Someone would ask him something and he’d start talking, just _jabbering,_ taking minutes to answer a yes or no question, and it was mortifying how many times he had to stop himself and just **answer.**

They didn’t need- didn’t _want_ these long running explanations, that’s why they asked a yes or no question. Nobody needed to hear his thought process, his opinion on the topic, his thoughts resulting from the question.

He turned the sound of his phone off, turned the vibration off, hoping to only respond when he knew he could stop and **think** about his response, not say the first thing that came to mind.

It turned out, to add to the growing ache in Jisung’s chest, that he rarely got any messages from the others, quickly realizing he was usually the one to initiate conversations. It turned out, when Jisung wasn’t putting the constant effort into talking, speaking, emptying the endless thoughts from his brain regardless of whether anyone wanted to hear, nobody seemed to have much desire to talk to him. There was the occasional message, of course – Chan asking if he had finished the verse he’d been working on, Hyunjin asking if he could sleep in his bed, Seungmin asking if he’d stolen his hat (he had).

It hurt.

It hurt in a way Jisung hadn’t anticipated. It hurt his head, having all these thoughts stuck with nowhere to go, no outlet. Jisung caught himself stuck in his own head several times, losing hours of the day, staring at his notebook or phone or computer, mumbling to himself, like the thoughts were spilling out, overflowing in the only way his body knew how.

It also hurt his heart, in more ways than he’d like to admit. It hurt to have the thoughts he did, getting meaner, darker, the longer he sat in them. It weighed on his chest, hot and sticky, like a goop had filled his lungs, sticking his heart to his ribs, like the ground was pulling him in, and sometimes he wished it would.

It hurt that the others didn’t seem to care. In fact, they praised his self-induced silence on a couple occasions, speaking of how mature Jisung had become, how he’d calmed, how glad they were that the dorm was finally quiet. Of course, Jisung had laughed, a pout he hoped was playful on his lips, not wanting to cause any suspicion, knowing he’d never forgive himself if he made anyone feel guilty for his own problems.

Jisung was writing more. Finding himself locked in a studio until the early hours of the morning, pages upon pages of his notebook scribbled in, half absolute nonsense, and half content they couldn’t use. It was infuriating, and Jisung quickly found his sadness morphing into frustration, and again into anger.

It was some weeks since this started – a month, three, he couldn’t keep track – that he found himself outside the studio he knew Chan had locked himself into, their comeback approaching faster than any of them could process. He’d tried to hold out, he really had, but the last three nights he hadn’t been able to get a single word out on his notebook, thoughts too quick, too jumbled, too hurtful, and he knew he wouldn’t make it to their next comeback at this rate. For the sake of the other boys, he needed to get this resolved.

With this in mind, he gave a light tap against the door, waiting several moments, and then giving one a bit more firm. “Channie,” he called, keeping his voice light, trying to enter the situation like his heart wasn’t already in his throat, even as the last sound caught on its way past his lips. “Could I-“ Jisung cleared his throat, as softly as he could, as he entered the studio, realizing he wasn’t going to get any sort of affirmation from the older boy, “could I talk to you for a second?”

There were a couple seconds of silence filled only by the clicking of a mouse, and dull thudding in Jisung’s ears he belatedly realized was his own heart hammering away. Then Chan was saving, spinning slow in his chair to face the younger boy, a tired sigh leaving him, and Jisung’s damaged heart was quick to suggest it was because of him. There was a moment before Chan responded, straightening his back, settling into his chair in a way that Jisung couldn’t help thinking was an attempt at preparing himself – preparing to _deal_ with all that talking to Jisung entailed.

“Of course,” Chan responded, easy, gentle, like he would give any number of hours to the younger if he needed it, and Jisung knew he would, despite the bags under his eyes, despite how tense he looked, like it was physically painful to pull himself away from work to talk to **Jisung** of all people, and yet he did it anyways, and it _hurt_. It hurt that he was such a burden on those he loved most, those he wanted only happiness and comfort, those who put so much effort into trying to give him the same, and here he was feeling miserable, squandering all the time they’d put into humoring him, listening when he had nothing important to say, putting aside their own needs to fulfill his.

“Sorry-“ Jisung coughed out, around a laugh that he nearly choked on, “I’ll just-“ his face was in flames before he even realized his voice had caught on his words, and he quickly threw his head back to the ceiling, clearing his throat and willing the hot wash of humiliation out of his system so his brain could function once again, feeling a wet warmth trail to his hairline. “Nevermind-“ he garbled, around a _whimper,_ and he couldn’t feel his hands as he turned on his heel, swaying as his knees knocked, legs feeling like jelly in his panic, his only thoughts whipping around his brain being “he doesn’t want to talk to you” and “stop being selfish” and “I need to leave”.

Somehow, Jisung knew Chan was behind him, probably jumping to his feet the second he realized the younger was crying, and it was too much.

Something was in Jisung’s throat (a lump in his effort not to wail, his heart that he really didn’t think he needed anymore, or maybe bile with the way the room was moving out from under him), he couldn’t feel his feet, and he couldn’t make his brain lift up his hand, but he knew he needed to leave, in whatever way he could, so he simply resorted to pressing himself bodily against the door, frantic mind unable to think of any other way to hide from his current reality. A sob ripped out his throat before he could even process that it was coming, feeling rough and hot on its way out, and his feet carried him to the corner of the room, forehead dragging against the smooth wall until it could settle into the shadowed indent, feeling almost like his body was being controlled from some far-away place.

Jisung’s brain, for once, was offline. Nothing was happening, while everything happened. Chest caving sobs left him as his arms hung limp at his sides, unable to know if his eyes were even open as tears flowed endlessly, light blocked by his own shadow and his hair hanging down in his face. He was no longer conscious of the other boy in the room, couldn’t even compute outside of the hard pressure against his forehead and the ground beneath his feet. Existing was just too much in this moment, and for now his brain seemed to decide that he didn’t need to, decided going off to some fuzzy place for however long it took to bawl out the weight in his chest would be the best option.

And so he stood there, long enough for his wet blubbering to turn into near dry heaving, eyes close to swollen shut with how irritated they’d become, and the warmth against his lower back to come flicking into his consciousness. It was another couple minutes, while his dry heaving calmed into gasping hiccups, life returning to his hands as he reached up to rub clumsily against his race, dragging tears and snot and maybe a little drool along with, and then he was able to register the warmth on his back moving in slow circles, up his spine, back down his shoulder blades, resting, and repeating. It was another few minutes later, when he was able to blink his eyes into focus, toes overlapping in the effort to make himself as small as possible, that he realized it was a hand on his back. Chan’s hand.

And then it seemed everything came back to him at once, and his forehead gave a solid thunk as he threw it forward, a mortified whine leaving him, and he again wished the floor would just take him.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped before the other could speak, not realizing how torn up his throat would be from his small episode. “Thank you,” he added quickly, this time a weak croak as he ducked his head down, effectively pulling away from Chan’s hand, as he scrubbed his face with the bottom of his shirt. “That was weird- I’ll- sorry, thank you-“ he babbled, trying to use his crouched position to scuttle away from the older, but he found he hadn’t quite regained his footing, his pigeon toed stance getting the better of him as he almost immediately found himself sprawled out on the floor, not quite sure how he’d got there, scrambling to push himself back up.

Before he could try and stand, however, Chan was there, as he always was, sitting beside him. “Hey,” the older boy started, and Jisung thought wildly for a second that, if he hadn’t just drained all the fluids from his body, he’d probably start bawling again right this second. There wasn’t any judgement on Chan’s face, in fact there was some sort of morbid understanding that brought both comfort and sadness back into Jisung’s heart. Chan didn’t continue, instead reaching out to guide Jisung into sitting, not touching but more offering his aid should Jisung fall again, and yes he absolutely would have started crying at this point if he hadn’t already.

“I see that you’re struggling,” Chan started, voice calm and low in that way he spoke when he chased the nightmares from Felix or Hyunjin. Once Jisung was sat in a way Chan seemed to decide wasn’t cause for any worry, he pulled his limbs into himself, giving Jisung the most space he possibly could in the given situation. “I would like to help you,” he continued, “but I don’t know how to do that. You don’t need to tell me what is wrong, but can you tell me what I can do to help?”

And really, Jisung’s body was putting quite the effort into trying to squeeze a few more tears from him, head ducking down to his lap as his eyes stung, nearly choking on the lump that found its place once more in his throat. Chan sat silent, patient, keeping his touches and thoughts to himself, waiting for guidance or permission or some sort of signal from Jisung that he could do something, _anything_.

When Jisung realized he wouldn’t be getting words out any time soon, he forced his body to move, near dragging himself into Chan’s space, pulling the older boy’s ankles until his legs were outstretched, then pulling his crossed arms from where they’d pressed firmly into his chest to put them at Chan’s sides. Right now he didn’t think he could handle being held, being confined, but he needed some sort of closeness, and when he finally dropped his forehead down onto Chan’s shoulder, blocking the yellowed studio lights, he suddenly felt like he could _breathe_ again.

Obediently, like Chan **understood** , and Jisung almost wished he didn’t, the older boy kept his hands down at his sides, letting Jisung burrow into him on his own.

Several minutes passed like that, where Jisung made up the time lost in his fit, relearning how to breathe, how to feel the clench of his hands, the strain in his calves as he rhythmically flexed his muscles, like if he tried hard enough he could bounce his feet like he always did, despite the fact that he was currently sitting on them.

Finally, when there was no lingering threat of nausea, and Jisung’s heart had returned to his chest, he leaned himself back to rock onto his tailbone, feet kicking out to settle his legs over Chan’s, looking down at the space between them. Chan was patient – Chan was _always_ patient, and in this moment he continued to be, fingers busy fiddling with a mis-stitch on his sweater, eyes seemingly looking over Jisung’s hair as the younger boy regained control of himself.

“If you could-“ Jisung started without much thought, though his words barely made it out his throat as it fought to work again, and he was quick to clear it before continuing. “If you could just- just listen- just for a little bit. Um, I don’t want to… I don’t want you to think I don’t want to hear you, too,” he explained, trying to be slow, trying to make his words come out in the order they should as opposed to the order his brain supplies them. “I just want to…” There was a pause, as Jisung struggled to find the word, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I have too much to say,” he decided on, rewording, rethinking, “and I have to. Say it. I want-” this time, when Jisung cleared his throat, it was to avoid saying the words that came to his head. They were true, but he knew they might hurt, and of all people, Jisung didn’t want Chan to hurt, not more than he already did.

“I want to be heard,” he grit, willing the older boy to understand, pleading to whatever being he was sure could read his mind that Chan didn’t think this was Jisung saying he thought the other boy didn’t listen to him. This wasn’t Jisung calling Chan out, rather, it was Jisung asking permission for what he’d denied himself.

Of course, _of course_.

“Okay.”

Of course. This was Chan. Of course Chan knew, Jisung didn’t need to plead, Chan _knew_ , he always seemed to know.

“I’ll listen to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> That was a lot, sorry everyone. I've been feeling kind of icky and needed to get it off my chest, hopefully I can go back to fluffy things after this! If you got down to this bit, thank you so much, and I'm sorry again! I actually have a similar theme, something I myself experience, planned for most of the boys, but I don't know if I want to continue posting this kind of negativity. Let me know what you guys think, if I should add any tags, if I should change the rating (I don't really know how this kind of topic should get rated), etc.


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